I'm Just Fine
by MyImmortal329
Summary: After escaping the farm, Carol and Daryl seek shelter for the night. With only a fire to keep them company, something shifts between them, and they both learn how a simple touch can feel so good. Set during the season 2 finale. Caryl one-shot.


Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All characters belong to the creator of the television show and the graphic novel series.

I'm Just Fine

Her hands gripped his sides, and her breath was hot against the center of his back. Her thighs squeezed against his, and he felt one of her hands move toward his stomach, gripping his shirt. The bike hit a bump in the road, and she slid down further in the seat, pressing against him as they rumbled on down the road.

The glow from the fire was gone, and the roads leading to the highway were all blocked or littered with walkers. So, they'd been forced to take a shortcut through the small town that had the essentials every small town needed: a pharmacy, a church and a bar.

Carol's grip on him relaxed when he slowed the bike to a stop in the drive of an old house.

"Ain't gonna get nowhere in the dark," he grunted, climbing off the bike and hoisting his crossbow over his shoulder.

"We're staying here?" she panted, glancing around, shivering as the night breeze took a chilly turn.

"You wanna go back out there with them things?" His voice was gruff, biting, panicked.

"No," she murmured, eyes flooding with tears.

"C'mon. Stay behind me." He grabbed the handgun from the saddlebags on his motorcycle, and then he pushed the bike up behind a large bush to keep it safe should anybody come looking for a quick escape.

They were up on the rickety porch in moments, and Daryl pounded once on the front door before pressing his ear to it. Her hands tucked into her pockets, and she shivered again.

The door opened with ease, and they slipped inside. She turned the lock and then the deadbolt, and Daryl told her to stay put while he checked the rest of the house. He left her with the gun, and it felt heavy and cold in her hand, but he showed her how told hold it, where to put her finger until she had to fire. And then he disappeared, moving room to room, and she listened to the house groan as the wind picked up outside.

Her heart was still racing, and she wasn't certain if that was from escaping the farm or just from the realization that they were separated from everyone. She'd left her daughter's grave behind as the fire had consumed the farm. There was no going back. It was lost, and there was no changing that. Like Sophia, it was just another memory, just another loss to live with.

"We're good." His voice made her jump. "You can put that down now." Carol looked at the gun she held, and she slowly lowered it. He took it from her, put the safety back on, and he put it down on the coffee table in the dusty little living room. He stripped off his crossbow next, and he moved to the fireplace, grabbing a poker to stir the ashes before he added a few dust-covered logs. In moments, a warm glow lit up the room, and Carol immediately felt warmer.

"Windows are broken out and boarded up in the bedrooms. Gonna get cold in there. We'll sleep in here tonight." He didn't look at her. He crouched down to add a couple more logs to the fire. "You hungry?"

"I can't eat. I just want to know everyone's ok."

"By mornin', the herds should be scattered. We can get back to the highway. They'll probably sleep there for the night, wait and see if anybody comes." He grunted when he stood up, and Carol found a flashlight on the coffee table. After a few taps against her palm, it finally flickered on, and she started for the kitchen.

She could feel him looking at her then. Finally. He hadn't looked her in the eye once since she'd gotten on the back of his bike.

"You ok?" She stopped in the hall, and she turned to see him looking at her. He squinted into the light from the flashlight. "You ain't bit?"

"I'm ok," she promised.

"That blood?" He saw it on her arm, and he took a step toward her.

"I fell. It's nothing. It's already stopped." She sniffled then, and she disappeared into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets. She found a couple of cans of stew, some bowls, a can opener and a pan, and she piled them all in her arms. When she returned to the living room, Daryl was crouched on the floor again. She crouched down next to him, and she saw him look at her again. She peered over at him, her blue eyes glittering in the firelight, and she saw him look away. "It's not much, but it's better than nothing." She opened up each can, dumped them in the pan and then sat it in the flames, grabbing a discarded rag on the floor to wrap around the handle. She sucked in a sharp breath when a flame licked her hand, and she pulled back.

"You hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm not going to break," she promised. Daryl eyed her again, and then he got up, disappearing into the back of the house. Carol stirred the stew, watching it bubble and steam, and by the time Daryl returned, she was dipping out a serving for each of them and putting the pan aside.

"Here," he grunted, kneeling down next to her. He had a bottle of water and a clean cloth as well as a bottle of peroxide. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm, and she didn't flinch. His fingers were calloused but gentle, and she recalled the last time a man had touched her like this, he'd squeezed her until he left bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

Daryl gently cleaned the scratch on her arm, pouring water onto the cloth and then rubbing it gently over her skin. It wasn't deep and wouldn't need much attention, but he poured peroxide over it just for good measure. She flinched at the brief sting, and then he dried it and put a bandage over it.

"Thank you," she whispered. He let go of her hand and nodded, and they both scooted closer to the fire for warmth as they began to eat. It occurred to her, as she watched him avoid her gaze again as they ate, that she'd come to know pain in a man's touch. It's all she'd ever really known since meeting Ed. Kisses were few and far between, only when he had liquor in him. They were bruising. There were no gentle caresses, no tender brushes of a hand against her cheek. They were always rough pulls here and there, slaps across the face, knuckles against her jaw, a hand against the back of her neck as he pushed her into a wall.

Since Ed died, people had been afraid to look at her for long, for fear of seeing that pain, of maybe having to help her carry that burden. They'd walked around her like she was some porcelain doll, like she would break if they so much as breathed on her. She'd had time to watch, to learn, to see that the only person that didn't treat her that way was Daryl. He was rough, but not with her. He'd lashed out at her, but in his own anger at himself for not finding Sophia, and then in the end, for feeling like a failure when she'd come out of that barn.

There had been something, a spark, some connection between them that had brought him to tell her about the Cherokee Rose, that had had him bringing her out by that pond and trying to restore her hope that her daughter would be found. But everything had changed since Sophia died, and now here they were, side by side almost like strangers again. She knew so little about him, aside from the scars she'd seen on his back, the way he flinched at a simple touch, the way human kindness aimed in his direction seemed alien.

Daryl finished first, and he put his bowl aside.

"There's more," she offered.

"Nah, you eat it. Ain't that hungry."

"Yes you are." She split the rest of the stew between their bowls. "Don't be so stubborn." Daryl smirked then, and she gave him a smile. It was genuine. It was different than what he'd seen from her. In fact, he wasn't certain he'd ever seen her smile like that, especially not when her husband was around.

When they were finished eating, Carol gathered up the dishes and took them to the kitchen. As she was turning around from the sink, she gasped when she almost ran right into Daryl.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Forgot this." He put the ladle down in the sink.

"Oh." Her breath caught in her throat when his arm brushed against hers, sending a shiver down her spine. He pulled away then, looking at her for a moment before he returned to the living room. Carol put her hand to her stomach, feeling her pulse quicken and her head swim a little. This was new.

When she returned, Daryl was pulling blankets out from the closet, folding a few of them over to make a bed. She watched him for a moment, before she pulled a couple of pillows off of the couch and tossed them down.

"I'll go check the bedrooms," she offered, slipping into one of the cold rooms down the hall. She pulled a large quilt off of the bed, and her bare arms prickled with goose bumps. A steady draft was flooding through the slats between the boards over the window, and she knew there was no way a person could survive the night in that room with that draft.

She opened up the closets to find the clothes pretty much gone, but there was a flannel button up shirt in the back of the closet that looked to be the right size for her. She grabbed that and piled it on top of the quilt.

She quickly left the room and shut the door behind her, kicking up a towel against the bottom of the door to keep the draft from coming out. She found another quilt in another room and carried them both into the living room. Daryl had taken off his boots, and now he was adding another log to the fire. The wings on his vest were stained with blood and dirt, and when he slid the vest off, she saw tear in his shirt.

"I can fix that for you," she offered, crouching down next to him again.

"Don't worry 'bout it." His voice was low and gruff, and Carol nodded.

She handed him one of the quilts and wrapped the other one around her shoulders.

"You gonna be warm enough?"

"Yeah, I'm ok," she promised. She pulled the flannel shirt out and pulled it on over her tank top. She did up a couple of buttons and pulled the quilt back around her shoulders. "That's better." Daryl nodded then, and he grabbed the other quilt. Carol removed her shoes, warming her feet by the fire, and Daryl leaned back on his pillow watching as the fire cast her in a silhouette. She turned to peek over her shoulder at him. "You saved my life tonight."

"You were doin' a pretty good job of savin' yourself."

"Not really," she murmured. "I just ran. It was stupid."

"It was smart. You're still here. Ain't nothin' stupid about that."

"Thank you for coming back for me."

"If I hadn't, somebody else would've."

"But they didn't. You did. Don't sell yourself short. You're a good man, Daryl." Daryl cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with her praises. She leaned back then, lying next to him on the makeshift bed, pulling the pillow under her head and resting her hands on her stomach. She looked up at the ceiling as the fire cast dancing shadows on the crown molding.

His breath hitched in his chest when she turned her head to look at him. He felt the flames rippling through his veins scorch his skin. He blushed when he realized she was still looking at him. She looked at him like he was worth something, like he wasn't just some redneck piece of shit that wasn't good enough.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," she murmured. "Sophia was gone before you even went looking for her. I know that. There's nothing you could have done." She looked back up at the ceiling. "I should have been there. I should have watched her closer."

"Hell, I didn't mean what I said. I was…"

"But it's true. I should have kept an eye on her." She shook her head.

"These things happen," Daryl grunted. "Ain't nobody's fault. Ain't nobody to blame. She got scared, and she took off, and she got bit, and that's all we know. All we're ever gonna know." He heard her breath hitch again.

"You're right," she whispered. "Why did you look for her?"

"The truth?"

"Yeah."

"Got lost in the woods myself when I was younger'n her. I know what's out there. And I didn't wanna see you hurtin'."

"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "I was a stranger."

"I know what it's like livin' with somebody shovin' your face in the dirt. That asshole didn't deserve you."

"No," she murmured. "He didn't. And I stayed." She shook her head. "I can't believe I stayed." She sniffled then and sat up.

"You ask me, he deserved what he got out there. Worse, even. M'sorry 'bout your little girl." Carol wiped at her eyes then, sniffling. She leaned over then, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He flinched then, and when Carol pulled back, she pulled back just far enough that he could still feel her breath on his face. His hands twitched at his sides, and his heart began to pump a little faster.

"Thank you," she whispered. She kissed the corner of his mouth then, and he turned his face just enough that he leaned up to press his lips fully against hers, feeling her suck in a ragged breath. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she kissed him back, sighing against his lips as his hand moved up her arm and cradled the back of her hair.

Her hand tucked into the front of his shirt, fingers curling there, the soft skin of her hand warming his chest. This was new. He hadn't had a woman kiss him in too long to remember, but his body was certainly beginning to respond in the most primal of ways.

His breath hitched in his chest, and she pulled back like she'd been burnt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking away. He sat up then, as she scrambled to compose herself.

"Hey," he murmured. "You ok?"

"Stop asking if I'm ok," she panted. "I'm not going to break. If I was, I'd have done it a long time ago." He flinched then, and she looked at him. His gaze dragged down the front of her, over the freckles on her collarbones, and she watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips. "I won't break." He watched her lips part, watched the way her pupils darkened, and how she was looking at him with a question in her eyes. Her hands were on his shoulders then, gently squeezing him there as she turned and got on her knees and leaned in to kiss him once again. His hands were on her back then, and then her arms were around his neck, and though in his mind, he had no idea what to do or to say next, his hands made up for it, stroking down her back, over her ass, pulling her close until she was in his lap and her legs were wrapped around his waist.

"Ain't no good at this," he muttered, when she pulled back to look into his eyes. "Ain't been…it's been a while."

"I think you've got the hang of it," she offered. "I'm no expert myself."

"You been married."

"That doesn't mean anything," she murmured, bringing her hands to the buttons of his shirt. He caught her hands in his, and she swallowed hard. "We don't have to."

"You don't want me." He looked away, and she took his hand, bringing it to her breast.

"Touch me," she whispered. "It's ok. Please. I want you to." She kissed him again then, gently tugging on his lower lip with her teeth. "I want you. I want you." His fingers didn't move for a moment, but then, as her tongue slid past his lips, they twitched to life, and he gently kneaded her breast in his hand, getting a soft gasp from her as she leaned into his hand. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt again, and then his hands were pushing the flannel from her shoulders, ghosting over the goose bumps on her arms. She smiled into the kiss then, as his hands warmed her in the cool room. She pulled back, arching her neck, and it only took him a moment to follow her lead, kissing the hollow of her throat and then suckling at her collarbones, nipping there with his teeth, just grazing the flesh enough to leave a little pink mark. "Dary…"

He was hard, straining against his jeans, and he shifted then, laying her back against their little makeshift bed. His hands were on the buttons of her jeans, trembling there, as she panted beneath him, lips pink and swollen from their kisses. Her short hair was slicked with sweat now, and a flush filled her cheeks, and her chest heaved with each shaking breath. The orange glow of the fire cast shadows on her skin, and he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Her hands found his, and she helped him tug at the button and push the fabric down her hips. His own shirt was half-buttoned, but the second her pants were off, her hands were tugging at his jeans, and he knew they weren't going to get that far. Something had ignited in him, and he saw the reflection of it in her eyes.

"You sure?" he growled out, pushing his jeans down and off of his legs, crawling over her as her hands ghosted up his shirt, nails digging into the flesh on his lower back before he tugged at her panties.

"Come here," she whispered, spreading her legs for him. "Please." His mouth was on hers then, and his hand moved up her shirt, kneading her breast in his palm as he longed to see her, all of her. But her hands were on his ass, pulling him closer, and he pulled himself out of his boxers, shifting them down his hips. She kissed him then, hungrily, and he buried his face against her neck when he pushed into her, stretching her, filling her, making her cry out. He wanted to quiet her, wanted to warn her she might bring a whole herd of walkers down on the house, but the more he moved, the more beautiful the sound was, his name on her lips. He bit out a cry against her neck, sucking there, tasting the salt of her skin.

Her hands moved own his ass, pulling him closer, and her hips began to rock against his. She was hot and wet and tight, and this was nothing like the last sexual encounter he'd had. He could count his experiences on one hand, and this was by far the most intense thing he'd ever felt, and he wasn't even sure he could hold on long enough to make it good for her.

"Please," she whispered, rocking against him, crying out against his shoulder, hand seeking his as she dragged it down between them. "Touch me." He closed his eyes, propping himself up on one arm as he touched her, sending her hips up off the mattress. He touched her again, rubbing the little nub of her clit until her breaths were strained between whimpers and cries, and he felt her walls pulsing around him, squeezing him, bringing him closer, and it was everything he could do to now completely let go in that moment.

Her head fell back, and she let go of his hand, gripping the blankets beneath them, and she felt a surge of heat, as she collapsed beneath him, panting and crying out as her eyes screwed shut and a flush filled her face and neck. Moments later, he let go, falling over her, his sweat-slick forehead buried against the crook of her neck.

Her fingers danced along the back of his neck, gently caressing him as they lay in silence. He was still inside of her, and their bodies pulsed and thrummed together as the snapping fire joined the serenade of their slowing breaths.

He heard her moan softly and shifted his weight, pulling out of her, stuffing himself back into his underwear. She ran her hands down her chest, shaking, reaching for a blanket to cover herself with.

She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her body still on fire from the memory of his skin against hers. For a moment, she thought he would move away from her, would leave her to her thoughts. But he surprised her then. He surprised himself. He lay down next to her, pulling his arm around her shoulders, and he pulled a blanket over them both.

"You sure you're warm enough?" he finally asked, breaking the awkward silence between them. She smiled then, burying her face against his neck, inhaling the scent of him, letting the warmth of his body sooth hers.

"I'm just fine," she promised. And in that moment, in his arms, she was.


End file.
